Never Trust Americans
by kmyth
Summary: Hiro has always been skeptical of managers, and K-san is no exception. khiroshi [discontinued]
1. Default Chapter

Never Trust Americans  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation, or any of its characters. I am not profiting from this story. In fact, if time is money, I'm losing on the deal.  
  
Author's Notes: This story is my guilty pleasure. The opening chapter is set before K becomes Bad Luck's manager.

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Karaoke bars were always fun to attend. So many different types of people would show up, all packed into one spot. Some were good singers, yet a fair share were downright bad. Usually there was a direct correlation to the number of drinks they'd downed before taking stage, and the awfulness of their performance. Hiro listened as the young woman now on stage slurred over the words to a downbeat Japanese pop song. Before she'd even begun singing, he could tell it was going to be horrible. Anything beginning with, "This song is dedicated to my ex-boyfriend" was subject to question.  
  
Hiro leaned back into his chair. The thought that he might not always be able to go out like this brought him mixed emotions. "Bad Luck" was gaining popularity, and that was great, but he'd never been the type to accomplish anything for the purpose of money or praise. The explanation was simple; Hiro played guitar because he liked the sound. He took one more drag from his cigarette, before crushing it into a clean ashtray. Shuichi had opted to stay in with Yuki, as he did most nights. It didn't matter that the famous writer was working on yet another deadline and would barely pay Shuichi any mind. Hiro supposed that such faithful actions from Shuichi had to be love. Why else would Shuichi bother sitting beside his lover in silence, only to be spoken to once or twice in reprimand?  
  
Hiro sighed, running his fingers through his long hair, brushing the stray strands from his face. All best friends were pushed aside to make time for lovers. There was absolutely no difference between him and the rest of the world. Yet, everything felt less personal these days, even their music. Sakano was doing a great job as their manager. There was a lot more to the music industry then simply the dedication of its musicians. That was why Hiro Nakano found himself here, of all places. A karaoke bar. A bunch of amateurs, just singing because they liked to.  
  
He took his guitar with him, the next performer to entertain the light atmosphere. Inevitably, he would darken the mood, if only a little. Hiro's own singing voice was much deeper then Shuichi's, a perfect match to the way he loved to play guitar. Nittle Grasper was a great band, but they were Shuichi's inspiration, not his own. How much inspiration could a guitar player find in a band using synthesized guitar? Hiro smirked at the thought. Most of his influences came from American music, from people such as Hendrix and Santana. Playing with "Bad Luck", music molded to Shuichi's style, could sometimes be stifling, but it was nothing he couldn't handle for his best friend.  
  
Hiro began to sing into the microphone, not bothering to look at the screen. He knew this song. He could adlib his guitar to the melody, without much thought, embellishing where he felt necessary. His only regret was that the song would have been more fun with Shuichi, or even Yuji. Yuji, though not the best singer, had a unique gift for working the crowd. Everyone was enjoying themselves now, but it had more to do with his guitar playing then any kind of stunt, like Yuji notoriously pulled. This wasn't fun. Hiro decided it at that moment. Maybe his real intention in coming to the bar was simply to get wasted. An act of the subconscious mind. Hiro finished up the song, letting the notes die on his lips. Applause inevitably followed.  
  
As the guitarist navigated his way back of his seat, the microphone was already overtaken by the next singer. Hiro looked confusedly back into the crowd he'd come from. With so many people crammed into the place, sometimes it was hard to find your seat. It was like coming back into a darkened theater, yet this time, Hiro could have sworn his table had been exactly where a tall, blond haired man now sat, dark sunglasses covering the shade of his eyes. The man must have caught the look on his face, because he suddenly smiled, standing up, as if in greeting. Hiro walked up, more assured in his actions then before. Westerners were uncommon here, unless they were business men. This guy also had to be a particularly eccentric businessman to be wearing those dark sunglasses inside a karaoke bar.  
  
"Mr. K! Pleased to meet you!" He took Hiro's hand, pumping it in a firm handshake.  
  
Hiro's face faulted. K. Judging from the way he spoke, this guy had to be an American. He wracked his brain, trying to decide whether or not "K" was a normal last name. Mr. T ... Hiro smiled, without meaning to. "K" was probably short for some longer name. He took a seat, taking his neglected drink in hand. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. K." Hiro decided that if he could get Mr. K to go away quickly, that would be good. He had no intention of introducing himself. The only reason a business man would hang around here was if he was in the music business.  
  
"I ordered you another drink while you were up there!" K explained, smiling, as he pointed to the stage. "From what I've seen, you have a lot of potential."  
  
"Wow! Really! ... You think so?" Hiro choked back laughter. K looked a bit taken aback by his quick enthusiasm. Hiro couldn't screw with this guy's head unless he could keep a straight face. What was it with these music assholes? He could tell this guy's deal already, just from the way he was dressed. He had to be making a fortune off other peoples' talents, selling them along with their souls.  
  
"Yes. Of course I think so, or else I wouldn't waste my time," K answered, in response. Much to Hiro's dismay, K clapped him on the back, joining in with a loud laugh of his own. "Your singing is a bit weak, but your guitar playing could nearly pass for professional." K picked up the second glass he'd ordered for Hiro, sampling it himself.  
  
Nearly? Hiro twitched, though it was doubtful K noticed. This K guy was enjoying that alcohol way too much. Hiro sighed. Time to try again. "Well, I really hate the guitar. Singing is my real passion in life, you know?"  
  
K looked over at him in surprise. "That kind of guitar playing takes a lot of practice. It's hard to believe you don't even like the instrument." Hard to believe, and K didn't believe it. This kid had been totally laid back on stage, and even before he went on stage when K first noticed him. The look on his face while performing was unmistakable. Without a doubt, the nameless guitar player had a passion for music, even if K had only seen it through karaoke. A musician who didn't want to become famous? K smirked. How novel. Strangely endearing.  
  
Hiro frowned, narrowing his eyes at the smirking American. He had to be an American. No one but an American would be this arrogant. This guy wasn't dumb, and he looked determined. Why even bother? Sakano would have just slinked away by now. "Listen, I may have talent with the guitar, but I want to sing. If you can't make that happen, then forget it."  
  
"But you're no good at singing," K said, mock disappointment tainting his voice.  
  
Hiro smiled, in triumph. "Then I guess I'm no good for you. I guess I'll see you around, K-san."  
  
K took off his sunglasses, clipping them to the front of his shirt. "I suppose you will. By the way, I never caught your name."  
  
"Hiro." Hiro sounded so cheerful now, a far cry from the soulful performance he'd given on stage. Just from the musician's bright smile, K could tell he wasn't going to get any more information from him. All the same, K sensed lies behind that carefully placed grin. This kid had talent. It would be a shame to pass him up.  
  
"And what do you do now Hiro? ..You look young," K asked, as he slipped on his brown suede jacket.  
  
"Me?" Hiro could have kicked himself for sounding so off guard. "...I'm still a student."  
  
Why the hesitation? "Oh really?" That smirk appeared again. It was so easy to tell 'Hiro' was hiding something, but it only made the conversation much more interesting."They pay guitarists a lot of money at NG." K took out his wallet, removing one of his business cards. He handed it to Hiro. It didn't seem likely that this kid was interested in money, but it couldn't hurt. Yes, it was definitely worth it, K thought, as he watched the Hiro's face grow red. "When you change your mind, give me a call." K took the unfinished glass with him, all smiles on the way out of the bar.  
  
Hiro hadn't looked up from the card.

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to be continued...


	2. chpt2

Never Trust Americans

Author Notes: This is an alternate meeting between K and Hiro, meaning it won't be exactly like the anime, or the manga. For now, you'll have to excuse the lack of romance, as K and Hiro are just meeting. So sorry. To the people who actually read this story, thank you (dammit). I'll try to update more (or something).

Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation.

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Inside the restroom of the seventh floor, Sakano removed his thick-framed glasses, dabbing at his eyes with a white handkerchief. The carefully folded tissue paper Hiro offered Sakano was now balled up in Hiro's own hand, ready to be thrown away.

Sakano-san came prepared for tragedies. It was almost silly to assume otherwise. Even his handkerchief was embroidered in blood red letters to spell out his name. It was like he opened a vein and painted the name onto the handkerchief himself. If he were ever to lose his snot rag, all someone would have to do was check the phone directory. Smart man. That was why Sakano-san was their ex-manager.

Hiro leaned against the restroom wall only looking back, now and then, to check on Sakano's progress. The last time he looked, Hiro could have sworn he saw Sakano eyeing the toilets... Probably thinking about drowning himself, Hiro thought with a frown.

Tohma Seguchi, President of NG, just had that special suicidal effect on Sakano. Seguchi personally delivered the news that Sakano would no longer be Bad Luck's manager. It wasn't a wrong decision. Sakano couldn't even make Shuichi show up on time for work. Such was the world of business; a dirty game, that Hiro didn't like to play.

Hiro sighed, pushing himself off the wall. Of course, he was left to deal with his unstable producer alone. He walked over to the sink, stopping beside Sakano. The restrooms were white. Perfect. Spotless. To describe NG's reputation would be to describe its restrooms. A weird thought, but true.

"Sakano-san, cheer up. You're still our producer," Hiro said, his voice muffled by the echo of running water. The cool liquid splashed over his hands, before falling down the silver drain. How could he be so good at comforting Shuichi, and so bad at dealing with Sakano? Sure, he'd saved Sakano from jumping out of the window a few times, but that didn't count. Any decent human being would have done the same thing. Shuichi was eccentric. Sakano-san was eccentric. Things couldn't be so different.

"Sakano-san, Seguchi-san didn't fire you. He's only moving you to a job that he considers way more important. Anyone could manage a band but you're the best producer in Japan." That sounded helpful. Way to go Nakano. Hiro awaited a favorable reaction.

A small sniffle echoed through the empty restroom.

Life was good. Oh, the beauty of sarcasm.

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_Walking through the halls of NG is like walking through a dream. Sometimes you might ask yourself if money is your dream._

_Every day you enter. You wonder._

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Hiroshi Nakano entered NG studios on time. Suguru was always early. Shuichi was always late. Somehow it all fit together.

He stopped walking as soon as he passed through the doors, reaching over to adjust the strap on his guitar case. It had been cutting into his shoulder the whole way to work.

Only a few weeks ago, stopping in NG's main lobby would be unheard of. It was a stupid fear. The K factor, Hiro thought, frowning as he tugged on the strap. He still had the business card in his wallet.

Mr. K did work for NG. A few weeks ago, when Hiro met K, their encounter bothered Hiro so much that he actually checked around to find out more about the strange American. He discovered from one of the receptionists that Mr. K was Ryuichi Sakuma's manager. She also gave him several more details that he never wanted to know. She'd described him as a gun toting American, who was fond of AK-47s. Great... She even went into a cute little story about how she brought her son to work, and K taught the five year old how to load a rifle.

Mr. K. A real nice guy.

Hiro sighed, at last fixing the strap to a comfortable length.

It hurt his pride. Mr. K would have to be the manager of one of the most successful singers of all time, in Japan. He couldn't have been a nobody. Perhaps it was a compliment to be tagged by K as a talented guitarist, but all the same, with managers it was all about sales. Money. They couldn't give a shit about the means, as long as it produced a favorable end. It would have been better if K had been a nobody foreigner, who simply complimented him on his guitar playing. In fact, the compliment would have meant more than most.

Hiro pushed a few dark strands of hair away from his face. Sure, there were things to admire about Americans. For one, many of the best musicians came out of America. America was revolutionary in the development of musical stylization, like jazz, for instance. The sound was pure passion, with every note, no matter what instrument it was played on.

He walked to the elevators, pressing the up button. It glowed in red underneath his finger.

The synthesizer could be controlled so easily by the hands, he thought, removing his finger from the elevator button. The keys were effortlessly pressed. You didn't have to pound out your notes, or your feelings. Maybe it was wrong to judge Suguru's instrument, but it brought the smooth, glossy package to music that NG loved to sell. It was that manufactured package that Hiro, himself, hated.

As far as he knew, today, Bad Luck was only recording songs. Glossy pop tunes, with minimal guitar. That was just the life that he'd chosen to accept. Shuichi gave it his all, and that was enough for Hiro. No matter how their music evolved, Shuichi's intensity for performing would never change.

Hiro yawned into his hand, turning out towards the lobby, as he waited for the elevator. There were a lot of the Sakano types walking around today, in their formal suits. There were only a few patches of color moving through the lobby, and Hiro could only assume he'd been one of the standouts only minutes ago, in blue jeans and a green jacket.

Uniform. Boring.

Hiro was just about to turn away when out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a flash of multiple, bright colors. Ryuichi Sakuma bounced into view, making a lot of noise, as usual. Red pants, blue jacket, green shirt. Musicians were as vibrant as their personalities, Hiro thought, with a sage nod.

His eyes trailed to the person walking beside Ryuichi.

Black gun, purple tie... Speak of the devil... Hiro scowled, side stepping behind one of the Suits. Every day since he met K, Hiro worried about bumping into him at NG. It was only a matter of time before it happened. Still, Hiro cursed his luck.

Yeah, it was time to get the hell out of the lobby. Hiro turned, punching the up button to the elevator a few more times. He must have looked really nervous doing it, because the people around him were giving him funny looks. Did they not see the American with the huge, illegal assault rifle? Oh no. That guy had to be perfectly normal.

"Hey Hiroshi! Where's Shuichi?" A cheerful voice rang from a short distance away. Oh fuck. Sakuma-san.

_Ding!_

Hiro was the first to launch himself into the elevator. Mission accomplished. Hiro breathed out in relief, as the doors shut, and he began to feel the movement of the elevator floor beneath him. K-san hadn't seen him... Pink rabbits. K was as weird as Ryuichi.

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K looked up from making his two Kumagoro puppets box each other, just as the elevator was closing. The hand puppets were having an argument over who had a better looking bowtie and their disagreement came to blows.

Hiroshi. That name was familiar for two reasons. He narrowed his eyes, thinking it over.

"I guess your friend left you, hm Ryu?" Kumagoro number two, in the red bowtie, landed a fierce right punch to Kumagoro number one's belly button. It was all over. K slipped off his Kumagoro hand puppets, and tucked them into one of his pockets, leaving their heads to stick out.

"You like to talk about Shuichi of Bad Luck." K smirked. "Let's talk about Hiroshi."

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One more drink of water. Hiro filled his paper cup at the water cooler for the third time, before looking down at his watch. He was currently late, with no good excuses. Sakano would let it slide anyway, just like he did with Shuichi. Even if Hiro did have to explain, there would be no way he'd admit to the truth. The truth was way too ridiculous. Even crazy managers didn't waste their time chasing down liars. Hiro threw the water cup in the trash, before getting back on the elevator.

On the way up, he thought of a few excuses to hand Sakano, just in case. It was good that Bad Luck didn't have a real manager yet, or else he might have actually been in trouble.

The subject of managers was touchy lately. At least they were safe from K. The crazy deserved each other, though maybe that was being a bit harsh on Ryuichi.

The elevator stopped on Bad Luck's floor, and Hiro confidently walked out, all the while coaching himself that K wasn't hiding behind some corner with a gun. To even worry about something so stupid made him a little ashamed. Still, every corner he passed, he walked a little slower. On the last corner, he even peeked behind it before turning. Bad Luck's base was in sight. The enemy was nowhere in view. There were no lights on the elevators to indicate that they were in use.

"For being late, you're in a good mood Hiroshi."

"Yeah, I know." Hiro flashed a grin to Bad Luck's secretary. Happy to be alive.

Happy, happy, happy.

Hiro passed the vending machines, not really paying any mind to anything until he felt something cool pressed to the side of his head.

He froze. It only got worse when he turned. The vending machine, full of such sugary, jolly treats was now the indirect cause of his demise. Never thought it would end this way.

"Hiroshi! What a surprise! I wasn't expecting to see you here."

A little more cheer, and Hiro actually would have believed it. What was it with his guy? He had to be waiting like some kind of sniper behind the vending machines now he was acting like they were friends who bumped into each other completely by chance!

"Haha. Mr. K, right?" Hiro's laugh sounded forced. "Yeah, well, I got a little lost, and I was on my way back to the elevators. I forgot you worked at NG."

"You never called." K put his revolver away. "I thought you hated money and fame. In fact, I was just thinking about you on the way to work. Ryuichi and I stopped at a McDonald's drive-in and there was a very touching street performer in the parking lot. His guitar playing reminded me of yours!"

"Oh, really K-san? He must have been pretty good then," Hiro answered, laughing even harder. He wanted to murder K.

He watched as K tapped his finger on his chin. "Hmm. I don't know about that. He was good... at playing the guitar anyway. His singing sounded horrible though, kind of like a dying cat."

It was so hard to tell with this guy, but Hiro suspected he was playing stupid because they were right outside Bad Luck's recording room. "So, K-san, what brings you to this floor anyway? Do you manage someone on this floor?" Hiro looked over at the elevators, pretending to be disoriented.

"Oh no, I'm just looking around. This is Bad Luck's floor." With nothing better to do, K turned and started examining the vending machines, like they were some kind of novel invention.

Okay. Now Hiro was really starting to get annoyed. K needed to leave, so he could get into work. He pressed the down button, in a guise to make it look like he was going somewhere. "Someone around here told me you managed Ryuichi Sakuma. Is your job that easy that you can just hang around here?"

"Bingo!" There was a cheerful ring to K's voice that surprised Hiro.

"Ryuichi is so big here in Japan that any one could promote and manage him. He sells himself. Things get boring for me. That's why I wanted to manage you, before," K explained, smiling, "but now I want to manage Bad Luck."

Hiro turned, looking at K with pure shock. "...W-what? No! No, you don't want to manage Bad Luck. You should manage somebody else."

"Are you begging me to manage you?" A smirk.

"No!"

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Hiroshi Nakano. Definitely.

K just laughed off Hiro's outburst, clearly amused by it. He wasn't angry that Hiro lied, but that didn't mean he couldn't have some fun with the situation Hiro dug himself into.

"You know, Hiro-kun, there is a Hiroshi in Bad Luck, and he plays guitar too." A nice, bright smile appeared. "But then again, 'Hiroshi' is like the 'John' of America. It's a common name, and everyone seems to have it here." K nodded, keeping a straight face.

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John of America? What the hell? K was crazy. There was no better way to describe it. Hiro gritted his teeth. At that moment, he decided for sure that K knew exactly who he was. It was just hard swallowing his pride and admitting to it. Entering the Bad Luck recording studio would only be admitting it.

K's blue eyes watched him, taking on an act of innocence that few managers could pull off.

"Am I keeping you from something Hiroshi?"

When was he going to leave?


End file.
